


Great Unrest and Strange Desires

by BlueMinuet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Forbidden Love, M/M, Secret Identity, Spies & Secret Agents, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 13:59:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMinuet/pseuds/BlueMinuet
Summary: “I believe you’ll find that the number of mechs who aren’t afraid of me are few and far between. As for you…” He gave Minimus — or Switchboard, rather — a sweeping glance. “Well, I haven’t quite figured out if you don’t fear me or if you just long for death.”“Would the answer change your invitation?”Minimus Ambus goes undercover in order to spy on the Decepticon assassin Sixshot, and gets too close in the process.





	Great Unrest and Strange Desires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [privatepenne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/privatepenne/gifts).



> “It filled him with a great unrest and strange desires. It caused him to feel a vague, sweet gladness, and he was aware of wild yearnings and stirrings for he knew not what.” 
> 
> \- Jack London, The Call of the Wild

“I don’t like it,” Minimus said, glaring down at the holding cell. The observation room was angled slightly above, so that when looking through the one-way mirror, one was looking down at the suspect. Or, in this case, their supposed Decepticon ally. 

“I, for one, agree,” Brainstorm said. There was a measuring tape hanging loosely out of one hand while he made a few notes on his data pad. “I liked the plan a lot better when I was going to be building a fake Phase Sixer. Oh, can you just image the kind of goodies I could slap in there?” 

“Quiet, both of you,” Prowl said. “He’s perfect for the plan. Kidnapping and replacing a Phase Sixer isn’t exactly stealthy. And plus, as far as our intel can tell, the meetings between Phase Sixers are few and far between. Hard to try to gather intel on their inner workings when you’re the only one around.” 

Brainstorm grumbled over in the corner, but Minimus had louder concerns to voice. 

“I’m not worried about the Phase Sixer part,” Minimus said. “Well, perhaps I am, but I would phrase it differently. You want me to sneak in to find out any intel we can find on what makes the Phase Sixers tick, what their weaknesses are. But first of all that presumes there is anything to find in the first place, and secondly…” Minimus waved at their window, down at the prisoner. “Why do you think this seeker can get close enough to do that?” 

Prowl tapped the glass twice in quick succession, turning it into a monitor. (It was still transparent enough to see though, however, and Minimus caught the sight of their prisoner looking up and cocking his head at the tapping noise.) “His name is Switchboard. Heavy seeker, highly modified at the beginning of the war, and then again after an accident sometime after. He nearly lost his wings in a reckless rescue mission trying to save a member of his trine, and he lost the function of his optics entirely.” 

“How do you know all this info?” Minimus asked, squinting skeptically. 

“Easy,” Prowl said with a shrug. “He told me himself.” When Minimus continued glaring, he went on. “Look, our friend here is willing to cooperate. He wants to leave the Decepticons without raising too much suspicion, and we want a way in. It’s a win-win for all of us.” 

Minimus frowned, skeptically. 

“Switchboard’s original modifications make him the idea frame for this. Should be plenty to keep you busy,” he said, directing his gaze briefly to Brainstorm. He tapped the monitor a few times, bringing up some schematics. “Switchboard’s frame was designed to be the perfect transmission interception specialist. The wire array hanging over him acts like a brute force hacking system to communication equipment…” 

Minimus looked through the screen again. He had been wondering about that, if he was honest. The seeker looked perfectly normal in other respects, except for the tangled mess that hung over him like spiderwebs, obscuring the top half of his face and some of his shoulders and back. 

“Furthermore, after losing the use of his optics,several other sensor arrays were installed to compensate, including sonor and heat mapping. He’s already decked out with almost any spy equipment we could want.” 

Brainstorm made sure he wasn’t forgotten by letting out an excited squeaking noise in the corner. 

“And they won’t find it suspicious for such a decked out Decepticon to suddenly muscle his way into close proximity to Sixshot?” Minimus asked. 

To his annoyance, Prowl smiled. “No. See, Switchboard here’s performance hasn’t been too great as of late. So, the powers that be are benching him and sending him to one of their remote, deep space observatory stations.” At that, his smile infuriatingly widened. “Rumored to be the same one that Sixshot is on…” 

Minimus looked away from him. Instead, he looked down through the one-way mirror. “So we get intel and Switchboard gets a new start?” 

“Like I said, win-win.” 

Minimus sighed, but nodded.

* * *

Soon after arriving on the station, Minimus had come to understand what it was that Switchboard was running from. No one here seemed to trust him, much less give him any kind of respect or decency. He wasn’t sure if Switchboard had some sort of reputation — he certainly hadn’t mentioned one when Prowl had let the two of them talk — or if this was just how everyone on the station treated each other. Regardless, he kept his head down and did as he was told. 

He knew he was getting grunt tasks, and that was fine by him. But when someone shoved a pair of energon cubes into his hands and told him to go check-up on Sixshot, he was nearly floored. 

Time to face things, he supposed. 

It didn’t take him long to navigate his way to the command quarters. As far as he could tell, Sixshot did very little as far as the day-to-day operations went, but being the ranking Decepticon on board still meant a modicum of responsibility. The miserable bot that had tasked Minimus with the job had also muttered something about making sure he did the paperwork, which seemed like the kind of nannying that should have been far above Switchboard’s pay grade. 

All the same, Minimus braced himself as he stared down Sixshot’s door. Minimus had never been one to be afraid of unopened doors, and he didn’t intend to start now. He reached out, and rang the chime. 

Nothing happened. 

Minimus hit the chime again, and duly waited. 

He nearly hit the chime a third time when a voice finally shouted, “Oh, for Primus sake, it’s unlocked.” 

With that, Minimus simply opened the door and stalked in. He took a brief sweep of the room; it was large, but spartan. A recharge area in one corner and a desk in the other. Sixshot wasn’t standing near either of them, instead staring intensely out of the huge window that took up an entire wall of his space. 

“I have your rations, sir,” Minimus said. 

Sixshot tilted his head, but it was such a small movement that he still could have easily been mistaken for a statue. “Just leave them,” he said finally, shrugging towards a table. 

Minimus set them down carefully. “I was also informed that I should remind you about your paperwork.” 

Sixshot still didn’t look at him. 

“Sir?” 

“So, are you, like, in a hurry to die?” Sixshot said. “You could remind me again and see if that helps you along.” He finally turned his head to lay his eyes on Minimus. “I’m always happy to help with things like that.” 

Minimus prided himself on not so much as letting his wings twitch in the face of that glare. “Of course, sir. On your own time.” 

Without giving Sixshot time to threaten his life again, he slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

After weeks at the space station, Minimus began to understand the solitude of space that others often talked about. He had never felt it much himself — neither as Minimus nor Magnus — as he enjoyed being left to his own devices. 

At least, he thought he did. 

It wasn’t as if the station was static. There was a bustle of activity among the Decepticons of the lower decks. Constantly monitoring, surveilling. Sending recommendations to respond to potential threats. 

And Sixshot, waiting in the wings, for one of those potential threats to rise to his notice. 

That, at least, Minimus understood. The interminable dead space of waiting, like a breath held in anticipation only to grow stagnant in the tanks. Minimus soon realized that this was primarily why he was here; to attend to Sixshot, to keep him from growing mad with monotony. No wonder Switchboard had been so keen to run instead of attend his post. Not that Sixshot was cruel to his staff, but…

The stagnant air and the slow creep of time made the upper levels feel more like a crypt than a surveillance station. 

Minimus swiped his hand over the door panel, while balancing two cubes of enriched energon in his other hand. He wasn’t sure if the size and quality of Sixshot’s rations was something that would be of interest to Prowl, unclear if malnourishment would make a Phase Sixer weak or merely more ornery. Minimus suspected the latter, but had logged away the information for later transmission anyway. Better to let Prowl decide what was relevant or not. 

Once in Sixshot’s quarters, he had to do a soft sweep of the room, not seeing him right away. Normally, Sixshot was standing at his window, gazing out intensely, immovable as a statue, just as he had been on the first day Minimus had tended to him. Today, he was seated back away, still resolutely not at his desk, but instead sprawled slightly on his chaise lounge. He was sipping a glass of engex, aged until it had the deep red hue of iron-based organic blood. Sipping, with his unmasked face, revealing a landscape of features Minimus had never seen. 

Minimus gave him a curious look. He hoped it wouldn’t read as staring; he could easily pass it off as Switchboard’s sonar sweep taking a moment too long to read him. He placed down the energon cubes in the normal spot, and turned. 

“Leaving so soon?”

Minimus nearly jumped at the voice, but instead turned slowly back at him. He wasn’t sure if he imagined the smirk on those newly exposed lips. 

“Is there something else you’d like?” 

Sixshot openly smirked at that. Minimus stepped closer, despite not being beckoned. It gave him more opportunity to study the new, unexplored features of his face. There was a roughness about it that just seemed to suit him. 

Minimus nearly shook his head. No tactical advantage to be gained from staring at Sixshot’s face, unless he happened to have a killswitch there. 

Before Minimus even realized he was close enough to be touched, Sixshot reached up, hooking his finger on the edge of Minimus’s chin. It wasn’t enough purchase to truly force Minimus to do anything, but he moved as the finger seemed to suggest him to, leaning down into Sixshot’s touch. 

He smiled. “Are you sure you’re a Decepticon?” 

Minimus couldn’t help but startle at that, and unfortunately it bled through with an undignified flap of his wings. “I…” 

Sixshot laughed. “You’re far too obedient,” he said, clarifying. 

“What?” 

He laughed again, heartier this time. “Even the terrorcons wouldn’t put up with this from me, and they worship me.” 

“Should I find this unpleasant?” The words were out of his mouth before Minimus knew what he was saying. He winced, but luckily his armor had no functioning eyes to translate it to. 

Sixshot smiled. “Well… I suppose it’s not the kind of torture I’d ever inflict on a terrorcon, is it?” He removed his finger from Minimus’s face. The lack of contact surprised Minimus for a moment before it occurred to him that he could stand straight again. 

“Would it be improper of me to ask you to join me?” Sixshot asked. 

Minimus considered that for a moment. “I believed you were in charge here.” 

Sixshot blinked slowly before looking back at him. “What I mean to say is, do you want to? I’m not in the business of ordering people to be around me.” 

“Why?” At Sixshot’s incredulous glance, he tried again. “I mean, why do you want my company to begin with?” 

Sixshot made a sweeping motion across his quarters with his engex glass. “You mean as opposed to all the other mechs clamoring to be around me?” He returned the glass to his lips, sipping slowly. “I believe you’ll find that the number of mechs who aren’t afraid of me are few and far between. As for you…” He gave Minimus — or Switchboard, rather — a sweeping glance. “Well, I haven’t quite figured out if you don’t fear me or if you just long for death.” 

“Would the answer change your invitation?”

At that, Sixshot laughed loudly. Without another word, he poured another glass of aged engex, and gestured for Minimus to join him, scooting just slightly to make room. Minimus sat, and took the glass. He made sure to keep a reserved posture, curling into himself, careful not to take more room than needed. 

“Now, what would you like to talk about?” Sixshot asked. “My exploits? My top ten planets demolished?” 

Minimus took a sip before answering. “Is that what you would like to talk about?” 

Sixshot face screwed in interest, shooting him another assessing look. “You’re a funny one, aren’t you Switchboard?” He refilled his own glass, while shaking his head. “If you don’t want war stories, what do you want?” 

Minimus paused a moment, looking at him. “What about before the war? What were you like then?” 

Sixshot pointed at him, smirking. “Nice one… I’m drunk, but not that drunk, Switch.” 

“The night’s still young,” Minimus said, before sipping his drink. 

Sixshot’s barking laugh filled the room. “I knew I liked you.”

* * *

Minimus huffed at the cables he had been sent to rewire on the hull of the station. He was capable of doing so much more; and more relevantly, so was Switchboard. 

On the one hand, Minimus was glad to not have his prowess with the expansive set of tools built into his frame challenged; he could hardly even fly straight, not being used to controlling such a powerful flight frame. But on the other hand, the tasks he was assigned were menial, to the point of mind numbing. Minimus actually began to look forward to the times he would be able to sneak close to a computer to silently converse with Prowl. 

Worse, he had begun looking forward to the times where his duties were simply attending to Sixshot. He felt if he wasn’t careful, he would truly start relating to the fearsome Decepticon. If he wasn’t already… 

He tried to push that thought away, but was only bowled over by it in a quite literal sense when a suspiciously colored jet whipped past him, nearly close enough to clip him. The force of the thrusters caused Minimus to fall over against the station, staring up at the stars. 

The jet turned, spinning in the empty space, and came to a halt hovering over Minimus. 

Sixshot’s voice cracked in his comm. “Get up.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Minimus comm’d him, before he could think better of it. 

Sixshot only laughed. “Come on. You have wings, right? Use them.” 

“I _do_ have a job to do, you know,” Minimus said, standing slowly. 

“Yes, and it looks terribly important,” Sixshot deadpanned. “Fine. If you think it’s more fun than racing me, I understand entirely.” With that, he spun again and took off into the blackness. 

Minimus watched him go, then looked at the open access panel on the station, and then back again. With a sigh, he closed up the panel, and took off running down the length of the station. 

He didn’t have any experience being a flight frame, just a crash course and his own personal observations. From what he gathered, a run-up wasn’t really necessary for experienced fliers, but also it didn’t necessarily hurt. 

He ran and jumped, transforming as soon as his feet were off the station. It was a clumsy motion, but he managed it, just barely missing nicking the station with the swipe of his wing. He took off as fast as his thrusters would push him, though it was certainly no contest against someone as powerful as Sixshot, especially when he’d had such a commanding head start. 

Or, maybe it wasn’t so hopeless, he realized, as the far off dot of Sixshot swelled closer in his view. For a moment Minimus worried he might overshoot him, but Sixshot picked up speed as soon as Minimus got into range. Surely, not his full speed; Minimus could tell when he was being toyed with. 

“You fly like crap,” Sixshot said bluntly, twirling in and out of Minimus’s flight path. 

“I’m lucky I can fly at all, after the injury. I—” 

Sixshot cut him off with a burst of his thrusters, rocketing him forward, forcing Minimus to struggle to keep up. He realized the Sixshot was leading them — circuitously — to the gas giant that the station orbited. The station was nestled on the outer edge of the planet’s rings, where the debris was a bit thicker, not yet having been ground to a fine dust in the planet’s upper atmosphere. This close, the belt was less asteroid field, and more like a fine dust. Sixshot spun out ahead of Minimus, dipping one wing into the belt and kicking up a fine spray of debris that sprinkled over Minimus’s nose. He pulled away, trying to avoid the spray that was muddling his sensory readings. Before he could go too far, suddenly Sixshot was on his other side, nudging him away from the more dangerous chunks. 

“I was mostly messing with you before, but man, you really are bad, huh?” Sixshot said, though there was a playfulness in his voice. 

“I suppose it’s been quite some time since my last excursion out into space.” 

Sixshot didn’t comment on that, and instead transformed. Not into root mode, but into his winged wolf form. He darted down, bound off a few of the larger rocks in the belt, almost as if he was running, though Minimus knew it was mostly his inertia simply scooting him along. 

“It doesn’t bode well if I can keep up with you like this,” he commented.

Minimus huffed, and without pausing to think it through, transformed to root mode and angled himself to tackle him. 

Sixshot seemed to yelp, though the sound — if any — was completely lost to the vacuum. Minimus had dislodged him from the rocks, and both of them free floated for a moment — giving Sixshot just enough time to transform back to root mode — before one of the larger asteroids pulled them into its gravity well and they fell in a tangle of limbs. 

Even though he didn’t think to transmit it over the comm, it was clear that Sixshot was laughing. Minimus had landed on top of him, his helm butting against Sixshot’s chest, and he could feel the reverberations of the laughter thrumming through his body. 

Minimus looked up and frowned, which just made Sixshot laugh harder. 

“I’m not sure if you’re brave or just stupid, Switch,” Sixshot said between laughs. 

“I’ve rarely been called stupid,” Minimus said, speaking of himself without thinking about it. “Though recently, I seem to be making exceptions.” 

Sixshot laughed, and Minimus realized that at some point his mask had snapped back to reveal his full face. Minimus, despite himself, was lost for a moment in the genuine, hearty smile there. Sixshot moved, rolling so that he could gently deposit Minimus’s seeker frame onto the rock beside him. He hovered for a moment, and Sixshot’s joy seemed to turn to surprise for a moment as he looked down on Minimus. The thought crossed Minimus’s mind that Sixshot might try to kiss him — was that fear or hope that made his frame tingle? — but Sixshot rolled away to lay next to him. 

“I guess you can’t see the stars anymore, huh Switch?” Sixshot asked him, the aside nearly giving Minimus whiplash. 

“No,” Minimus said. Had he truly been Switchboard, that would have been the correct answer, though Brainstorm had fitted the armor to allow Minimus to see in the more traditional sense as well. But he played along, for the sake of the ruse. 

“Do you miss them?” 

Minimus turned his head, eyeing Sixshot. Had his frame had eyes, he would be narrowing them. “I suppose I wasn’t much of a stargazer, so… not really.” 

“Pity,” Sixshot said. “There were a lot of times where I felt like looking at the stars was the only thing that kept me sane.” He was looking up, head still cocked just barely towards Minimus. “Every time I felt bored, I’d try to pinpoint every star that I got sent to on missions, replay what happened in my head.” 

Minimus felt the pang of loneliness there, and that familiar sense of ennui that crept up between missions. He remembered the image of Sixshot, the first time he’d walked in as Switchboard, that familiar glare out of the window. Minimus felt like he could imagine himself there, wearing the Magnus armor, staring resolutely out the same window with the same expression, same boundless sense of waiting. 

“Why the past tense?” Minimus asked finally.

Sixshot turned to look at him and smiled. A hand shuffled towards his, reaching for his fingers. Minimus didn’t stop him as the fingers entwined. 

Sixshot stopped when Minimus finally couldn’t hold back a laugh. 

“What?” Sixshot snapped, indignant. 

“It’s nothing,” Minimus muttered. “I just never expected you to be so maudlin…” 

Sixshot grunted at that, gently yanking at his arm and rolling them, kicking up a cloud of dust. As the dust not so much settled as floated off, Minimus found himself pinned under the massive weight of a Phase Sixer. 

One who was luckily smiling at him. 

“Oh, did you have something a little less tender in mind, Switch?” 

Minimus squirmed, and no matter where he moved he had the unfamiliar — but not-quite-unpleasant — sensation of another frame pressed closed to his. One of his hands was still finger-laced with Sixshot’s, pinned gently and carefully near his head, while the other had ended up resting on Sixshot’s side. He flexed without thinking and found a transformation seam. When he bent his knees, they ended up on either side of Sixshot’s thighs… it seemed no matter what move he made, their position became more intimate. 

And the worst part was, he was afraid that he didn’t care

Sixshot’s face was so close to his. A roguish smile, with a tint of something almost fearful. It would be so easy to lean forward, so easy to close the gap between them and… 

Minimus moved his free hand, pressing at Sixshot’s chest. “I’m sorry, I… we should head back…” 

Sixshot pulled away before Minimus could process the look on his face, and just as quickly his mask snapped back on, obscuring the view altogether. 

“Right, of course,” Sixshot said. “Can’t throw your duty schedule off.” 

Before Minimus could respond, he had transformed and flown away. 

Minimus sat up, and let himself stargaze for a moment for heading back to the station.

* * *

Minimus tried to ignore his hesitation at the door of Sixshot’s quarters. In truth, he couldn’t really rationalize the pause. Of course, Prowl was cross and anxious for results. But that was Prowl. That was nothing new, nothing Minimus wasn’t accustomed to. 

Walking through this door, to Sixshot on the other side… how many times had he walked through this door now? Given time to do the math he could muster a fairly good estimation. But this time…

He felt the touch of Sixshot’s fingers like a ghostly memory, just barely grazing his own. He remembered the heat of Sixshot’s frame so close to his, the wide and genuine smile and laugh. He remembered how Sixshot seemed shocked by his own joy, genuinely surprised at the range of his own emotions. It had been visceral and unexpected and _real_. 

And that was the problem. In that moment, it hadn’t been Switchboard whose fingers tangled with Sixshot’s. It hadn’t been Switchboard who teased him ever closer, who trembled at the feeling of a hot frame pressed close to his. 

In that moment, he had been Minimus. No matter what Sixshot called him, who he looked like… in that moment every impulse, every emotion, every misplaced longing had been purely Minimus. 

And that made it all so much worse. 

Shoving that thought aside and thinking of duty, he opened the door and walked in. 

He hardly set his optics on Sixshot before he found himself swept up in a kiss. The energon cube he had been holding hit the floor, a dribble of fluid splashing onto his pedes, but Sixshot neither noticed nor cared. He pulled Minimus closer, though not roughly. It was gentle, intense, and Minimus realized that he had relaxed into it, arms settled over Sixshot’s own as they fiercely encircled his waist. 

With Herculean effort, Minimus moved his hands slowly up to Sixshot’s chest, and gave just the smallest push. 

Sixshot backed away, breaking their kiss but staying close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and his voice crackled just slightly. “I’m sorry, I should have asked but…” 

Minimus pressed a finger into his lips. “It’s alright.”

Sixshot gave him a look that was nearly mournful. “Is it?” 

Minimus felt his spark pound in his throat as he backed away. “I’m not mad.”

“Then stay,” Sixshot said. He stood stock still, not following Minimus as he backed away, but not retreating either. 

“I can’t…” 

“It doesn’t have to be anything,” Sixshot said. His eyes were pleading. “It doesn’t… It doesn’t have to be anything you don’t want it to be…” 

Minimus felt his vocoder catch. He wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that he couldn’t tell Sixshot that the problem was that he wanted it to be anything at all, or the fact that he wanted it in the first place. 

“I’m sorry…” Minimus backed away, making for the door. Sixshot made no move to stop him as he bolted. “I’m sorry.” The door clicked behind him, and Minimus slumped against it, wings scuffing against the hard metal. He heard a thump on the other side as well, and he knew Sixshot was right there. As wanting and as lost as he was. 

Minimus had never been one to be afraid of unopened doors, until now.

* * *

Despite all of Minimus’s assurances that the process was on track, Prowl wanted results. Really, Minimus shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course Prowl would want to expedite things. And Minimus had only himself to blame… 

His portion of the plan was simple now. Make sure that Sixshot was dispatched to deal with the disturbance that Prowl’s team would make. From there, Minimus was assured that Sixshot would be captured. He wasn’t privy to the details (even if he needed them, he didn’t feel he deserved it) but the conclusion seemed all but certain. 

Minimus had triggered the false distress call into the monitoring station’s systems, ensured it would ping all the right alarms to look like the highest caliber of emergency. He could feel the flurry of activity around him, a buzz of so many mechs put into action when normally they were bored to tears. 

Still, only one mech would be dispatched. As planned. 

Minimus found him in the armory, tooling up for the excursion. He stared at Sixshot’s face, the white mask once again clamped over his features. He wondered how long it had been since he had seen his mask full up. When had seeing his exposed face become so commonplace. 

Enough time passed that it was impossible for Sixshot not to have noticed his presence, despite the non-reaction. 

“Don’t go,” Minimus finally said, softly, meekly. 

Sixshot glanced at him, never moving his hands from the rifle he was loading. 

“I can’t tell you why,” Minimus said. “I can’t give you any explanation at all, but just… don’t respond to this one. Send someone else. Fly off in the opposite direction. I don’t care what you do, just…”

Sixshot carefully put his weapon down. He caressed one hand over the back of Minimus’s head. If not for the mask, Minimus thought he would have been leaning in for a kiss, but instead he merely bumped their helms together. 

“I wouldn’t do anything to get you in trouble like that,” Sixshot whispered to him, barely audible under his mask. 

Minimus felt like his fuel lines were frozen. “What do you…”

Sixshot backed away, looking at his arsenal. “Besides, what would I do, all on my own, if your superiors recalled you for bungling such a simple task… You’re too good for that anyway.”

“Not good enough, it seems.” Minimus shuffled, his arms crossing over his chest. “How long have you known?”

Sixshot laughed mirthlessly. “I dunno. First time you spoke, maybe. Damn near, at least.”

“Then… why…”

Sixshot gave him a long hard look, his eyes near unreadable without the rest of his face. “Switchboard…” He laughed again, the sound still hollow. “Whatever your name is… I never cared if you were out to kill me. Most people are. It doesn’t really matter.” He looked away, shaking his head. “Problem is, even though I know you’re out to kill me or capture me or whatever your little plan is… I’d walk into that trap a million times over for you. Stupid, right? I still would, even if every moment we spent together was a lie.”

“It wasn’t!” Minimus stepped forward before he realized he was moving, closing the gap between them. “That’s the problem… I lied about who I was, but my feelings… those were real.”

“Then I guess we’re just a pair of idiots together, huh?” Sixshot didn’t have the confident stance he was known for at the moment. He wasn’t slumping, but to Minimus he just seemed… lost. 

“You don’t have to walk into a trap for me,” Minimus said. “That’s not… that’s not what I want.”

“And if I turned the other way and ran?” Sixshot asked, eyeing Minimus over his shoulder. “Would you come with me? Desert your faction? Leave it all behind?”

“I…” Minimus didn’t mean to hesitate, but the words refused to form. He wanted to say he would, and yet… 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t either,” Sixshot said, turning away. “Before you got here, all I had was duty. I’m guessing it was about the same for you too. And I’m guessing, no matter how much we wish it was different, it’s going to take a lot more than a few sweet words and heavy moments to break us out of that.”

“So how does walking face first into an Autobot trap factor into that?”

Sixshot picked up his rifle, loading the cartridge into it. “I follow my orders.”

Minimus looked away. “And if you’re captured?”

“Will I see you on the other side?” Sixshot asked, not looking at him. 

“I doubt you’d know even if you did.”

Sixshot turned, brushing passed him to stride out the door. “I’d know you anywhere, Switch. Trust me on this one.”

* * *

Sixshot threw himself back against the wall of his cell. Half a dozen injuries pinged with pain from the movement, but he didn’t much care. Prowl had just stormed out after a thoroughly unsuccessful interrogation. He wondered what would come next: another ineffectual lawman, or a skip straight to mnemosurgeon. 

He wasn’t sure how long he waited — staring up at the vents and wondering what it would take to rip through them — when the door creaked open again. He didn’t bother to look until the door clicked shut again. 

Ultra Magnus hardly fit in the room when standing fully straight, another reason why Sixshot had decided to simply claim the floor as his territory. Magnus rectified the situation by sitting at the interrogation desk, despite the fact that his prisoner refused to meet him there. 

“Well, well, well, the Duly Appointed Enforcer,” Sixshot said, smirking beneath his cracked mask. “I had no idea I was such an honored guest.”

“Sixshot,” Magnus said, avoiding his gaze. Sixshot sat up, preparing to hit him with another verbal jab, but to his annoyance Ultra Magnus held up a finger to him, as if telling him to wait. 

“Are you shushing me?” Sixshot said, more incredulous than offended. 

Magnus gave no reply, and instead seemed to be counting. After a few beats, he finally spoke. “I’m sorry, it seems we’ve just lost audio feeds in the facility, so it looks like it will just be you and I until Prowl can track down the difficulty. Luckily I am a meticulous notetaker, so we can proceed as planned.”

“Why in the name of Primus would you tell me about your tech failures?” Sixshot grumbled. “If this is a trick it’s not even a good one, it’s just… weird.”

Despite his comment about note taking, Magnus pushed his datapad off to the other side of the table. “We don’t know what’s causing the problems yet. For all we know it could cascade into larger issues such as losing our camera feeds.” Finally, he looked over to Sixshot. “Still avoiding the desk, I see.”

Sixshot sat up a bit straighter and squinted. “I… what?”

To Sixshot’s shock, Ultra Magnus actually rolled his eyes. “So much for that bravado in the armory.” He shook his head. “We have about five minutes until the camera feeds go out, and shortly after the lights will fail. You’re going to have to make it look good. Don’t you dare pull your punches.”

Sixshot scrambled up to his knees. “Switch?”

“ _I’d know you anywhere, Switch. Trust me,_ ” Magnus mocked. “Look how that worked out.” 

“I… _Ultra Magnus_?” Sixshot tried not to shout, but it was a near thing. “But you were so much… smaller…” 

“Don’t tell me you really bought that I was a seeker…” 

Sixshot shrugged. “Honestly, I kind of thought you were a beastformer under there,” he admitted. Perhaps that had been wishful thinking on his part, he mused. Ultra Magnus pulled a face that wasn’t quite offended, but nearly. “Holy slag, Switch… Magnus. Whatever… Holy slag, am I in love with Ultra Magnus?”

Magnus gave him a considering look. “Well… are you?”

Sixshot looked at him, then looked at where he was almost certain the camera was. “Do we still have eyes on us?”

Magnus looked off, clearly consulting his internal chronometer. “It actually just cut off a few second ag—”

Sixshot surprised himself with how quickly he removed his mask, but when his lips pressed against Magnus’s, it somehow felt like it had taken too long. It wasn’t like kissing Switchboard, but it wasn’t entirely foreign either. He pushed Magnus back into the chair, crawling up from the floor and onto his lap. He thought Magnus might push back, but instead thick arms encircled his waist, holding him steady. The chair creaked a little, but seemed like it would hold as long as there weren’t any quick movements.

“We don’t have much time now,” Magnus whispered into his lips. 

Sixshot nodded before kissing him again. “Make it look good, right?” He smirked. “Do you find that idea as hot as I do?”

Magnus frowned at him, which made Sixshot laugh a little. 

“Magnus,” Sixshot whispered, chuckling to himself. “Gonna have to get used to calling you that…” 

“Don’t get _too_ used to it,” Magnus said, teasing a transformation seam. “That’s not my real name either.”

Sixshot jerked away. “Wait, what?”

He almost though Magnus was smirking, but just then the lights cut off, making it hard to tell. 

“Seems like that will have to wait ‘til next time,” Magnus said. 

“Next time, huh?” Sixshot kicked a leg out to finally topple the poor, straining chair, sending them crashing to the ground as the legs gave out below them. “Now that _definitely_ sounds hot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [check me out on twitter](https://twitter.com/blue_mels) if you'd like more info on my fics.


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